The Green and the Gold
by salanderjade
Summary: Katniss' thoughts on Peeta, pregnancy, and how the Boy with the Bread has changed her life. Mockingjay pre-epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This title comes from Stephen King's Dark Tower Book 7. It is the name of the chapter where Jake dies and Roland has to bury him. Such a heavy topic and yet the imagery King conjured about the forest and the sunlight playing on the leaves represented to me the ultimate definition of peace. I think that Katniss finally becoming pregnant means that she has found some measure of peace within herself. It just seemed to fit in my head.

Chapter 1: Refuge

She treated these woods like a refuge. Always had and apparently always would. Since her father died in the mines, she had retreated to the woods not only for a source of food but as a hideaway. This was her place—she understood it and it understood her. It accepted her, unquestioning and absolutely.

It was inevitable that she would come to the woods today. As soon as her suspicions were confirmed, she bolted. Peeta was her lifeline, her anchor. But the woods were her sanity. They soothed the fears that she kept from Peeta. They quieted the demons she couldn't burden him with. He carried too much of her load already.

She knew it was a possibility she would become pregnant. To have the reality staring her in the face was mind bending. She wanted it, probably more than she could even admit to herself. Peeta had hoped and waited for so long. She ached every time she said no and watched that spark in his eyes dim. When she finally said okay to trying, it was as if she had given him the sun. She loved that look. She wanted to see it more often. Smiling slightly, she glanced at the stick in her hand. Yes, here was the key to getting that wish. He would smile. He would probably cry. But the smile would be her reward.

She glanced up at the branches above her head watching the light play amongst the leaves. It danced about her in a haze of green and gold. The leaves split the light and were sheathed in return. It was only here in these woods that she saw this dance. This relationship of both dark and light each one made greater by the presence of the other.

She wondered if she was the light or the leaf. Maybe she was the dance between the two. A wry grin twisted her lip at this poetic thought. "Too much time spent around a baker turned painter." she thought ruefully. She had always been practical and focused. She did what was necessary in as quick and efficient a manner as possible. She didn't stop to notice things like sunlight in leaves. Not until Peeta.

She was, she decided, the dance between the two. The Games had been her dark. Starvation had been her dark. Lack of hope and faith had been her dark. Peeta was her light. When the darkness pushed and threatened to swamp her, he was what held her firm. When she let herself doubt, he was there to lend her strength. When she was cold, he was the warmth she turned to. When she lost everything, he gave her his all without thought of getting anything in return.

She twirled the stick between her fingers again and studied the two pink lines before shoving it into her pocket. She took one more glance up at the light playing through the leaves. The green and the gold intertwined, changing and bending to each other. She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath feeling peaceful for the first time in ages. Now she could give him something. She could finally move beyond all that had held her back. It wasn't perfect but it was hers to give. She climbed to her feet and headed back. She walked with purpose toward this new life, this new chance. Around her, the sunlight danced among the leaves. All was quiet. It was time to go home.

End Part 1


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Revelation

It was Peeta's favorite time of day for two reasons. The second and the least important was the pink-orange sunset hue which painted the sky at this hour. It happened when the sun was at the tipping point between dusk and dark. It sat low and bloated on the tree tops and let loose one last burst of light before giving way to the oncoming night. Any clouds shaded from indigo to violet. But around the edges and in between, the sky was engulfed in fire. The shadows lengthened and hugged the ground tightly. They layered one upon the other until details blurred. Shapes became indistinct.

The first reason had no competition. It was a constant to him, like breath, like food, like life. This time of day belonged to Katniss. It didn't matter what they were doing: eating, working on the memory book, sitting on the porch watching Haymitch fighting an always losing battle with his flock of geese. They did it together. It was simple. It was uncomplicated. To him, it was everything. He was content just being in her company. Watching her, living with her, and loving her left him breathless. He was complete.

Small additions could enhance this time, but were not necessary. As long as she was there, all was right with the world as far as Peeta Mellark was concerned. He felt wistful sometimes for what might be when a pair of little eyes met his over the bakery counter. That wide-eyed gaze when he handed over a cookie or cake, touching his lips with a finger as though sharing a secret made him ache. He wanted to hear little feet running through the house. He wished for something that was part Katniss and part himself. He wanted…but he didn't need. He couldn't and wouldn't force her to do something she had been so adamantly against for so long. She had agreed to try and he was grateful for that. It was a big step for her. He loved her for being willing to consider the possibility. It would happen in good time or not. He was happy. She was happy. That is what counted.

His contemplation halted and his brow furrowed as their house came into view. All the windows were open, the curtains blowing in the evening breeze. Although the door was routinely left unlocked, the windows usually stayed closed unless they were sleeping. He asked her once what she had against fresh air. She actually laughed then said she preferred the shades closed. It was a 74th Hunger Games thing. She refused to explain that and smirked at him in a maddening fashion each time he brought it up. He still wondered what she meant by that. After all, he was a Victor of those Games too and couldn't remember shades ever being mentioned. She wasn't in the house. He grew concerned when his calls remained unanswered. She would never leave without closing the windows. He was about to run to Haymitch when he heard something from outside.

At first, he was confused. Something other than the windows had changed. He stepped warily into the kitchen, listening closely. It was low and sweet. It was beautiful. Not daring to trust his own ears, Peeta crept to the kitchen window and was lost. The flashback hit him like a cyclone. This was no tracker jacker warped delusion but a defining memory. Time folded back and slowed. The present and past overlapped almost seamlessly. She was in the backyard bringing in the wash. Her hair hung in one braid down her back. Her dress was red. She moved effortlessly as she pulled sheets and towels from the line, folding them quickly and placing them in the basket. She was singing. She was five years old. Her hair hung in two braids. Her dress was red. Her hand shot straight up when the teacher asked. She stood on a stool in front of the class. She was singing.

Quietly, almost reverently, the Valley Song hung in the air. Just like when he was five, Peeta was a goner. He stood statue like, listening, and fell in love all over again.

I've heard of a valley  
O'er mountains far away  
It's a place we could run  
Where happiness stays  
The winter can't touch it  
The sun's always bright  
And there I will cradle you  
All through the night  
Let's go to the valley  
The place we can live  
Where joy won't forsake us  
It's all I can give  
In the sweet summer  
The clover grows wild  
The water runs clear  
And the birdsong is mild  
Come home to the valley,  
I'm waiting for you  
You'll never be lonely  
I'll always, ever be true

She saw him standing in the doorway and flashed him a sheepish smile but continued to softly sing. He waited until she finished before stepping outside and opening his arms. She walked swiftly into his embrace, her own arms lifting to coil around his neck. Lips softly touching her forehead, he gave her a gentle squeeze before reached down and picking up the basket.

"It's not my birthday. What did I do to deserve that?" He questioned playfully.

She rolled her eye and huffed out a laugh. "I don't only sing for you, Lover Boy. Sometimes, I sing for me. It was a good day."

"Your hunt went well," He asked as they each took a chair. Dinner consisting of rabbit stew, turnips, some of the cheese buns, and greens was already laid out.

"Not especially. It was just a good day." She hesitated shortly then gestured to a small box on the counter. "But since you asked what you deserved, that might answer your question."

He eyed the small box and then moved his gaze inquisitively back to her face. Her expression could rival her best during the Hunger Games for giving nothing away. "It's not my birthday, "he repeated.

"No. It's not. "She grinned cheekily. "But since you've been such a good boy lately, you deserve a little something." Reaching over, she gingerly placed the box beside his plate and waited.

Easing the small lid off, he eyed her in confusion. Holding the box, he couldn't comprehend at first what he was seeing. A stick. He deserved a stick for being a good boy. A mild sarcastic "Thank you" came readily to his lips then the significance of pink hit him. His eyes met hers then fell back to the box in his hand. "Katniss…" he breathed. His eyes flew back to her face. Her gray eyes were luminous. The last rays of the failing light outlined her in pink cast gold. She nodded, silently answering his unspoken question. He didn't remember rounding the table and lifting her up. He didn't remember the shout that left his mouth as the truth of that nod dawned on him. All he could remember later was her. Wrapped in golden light against a backdrop of green/black leaves, she once again changed his life. He was going to be a father. Just one more reason this time was Peeta Mellark's favorite time of day.

End Part 2

A/N: "The Valley Song" comes as complements of Nymphadora's wonderful story-"Dandelions and Valley Songs". She graciously gave me permission to use it here. Please ask her before re-using any part of the song. Thank you very much.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Radiant

A/N: Radiant- 1-emitting rays of light; shining; bright. 2marked by or expressive of love, confidence, or happiness

My name is Katniss Mellark. I live in District 12. I am a Victor of the 74th Annual Hunger Games. I was the Mockingjay. I am married to Peeta Mellark. I am four and a half months pregnant. I am furious.

I want this baby. I want to see that stupid grin that Peeta gets every time he sees me these days. I have just started to show, my clothing getting noticeably tighter across my middle. Whenever we are in the same room, his eyes and his hands are on me. I've gotten used to his ways over the years. He will rarely pass by me without touching me: stroking my hair, a hand on my shoulder, lips brushing my cheek. This is different. As soon as my stomach started to round perceptibly, it became Peeta's sole fixation. He pats. He rubs. He sits quietly beside me with his hand gently resting on my belly. And he smiles.

I know I said that smile would be my reward. But I didn't think I would be rewarded quite so often. Usually, I try to smile back. It's easier now than in those early months when everything hurt, food was my mortal enemy, and the sight of bleeding game made hunting impossible. Denied of my usual pursuits, I became the Katniss of old. I was surly, unsociable, and began to rival Haymitch in the fine art of snap first-ask questions later. Through it all, the only reaction from Peeta was to smile.

My condition isn't common knowledge around the district, although people do suspect. They don't know because I have refused to confirm or deny. My dire threats and futile promises of doom descending have kept Peeta silent. But this could only hold for so long and I know it. Soon the day would come, and I would have to face it. But for now, not even Haymitch will confront me. Thankfully for once, my reputation has preceded me and bought me a few months of peace.

Only three people know for certain: me, Peeta, and my mother. I don't think I could have survived those first three months without her teas. She was sworn to silence. Peeta practically skipped to the phone when I relented and let him call. I was desperate by then for relief. Poor mother. Peeta dropped the news on her with all the subtlety of a rock. She managed to say hello but then the floodgates opened. He blurted out our situation without drawing breath. He smiled the whole time

Once the teas arrived from District 4, my disposition quickly improved. I was able to go to the woods again. I was able to hunt, take walks, and return to my refuge. I was able to escape from the knowing glances and muttered whispers when they thought I couldn't hear. Peeta watched me closely but didn't discourage me. He didn't crowd me, knowing that I needed time alone. I talked to the baby in my solitude. I sang funny songs half-remembered from when Prim was so young. I weaved silly flower garlands and brought them home for Peeta to wear. He would glance at me from underneath the petals, blue eyes shining, and he would smile.

My time of peace and contentment was not to last. I just didn't think that Peeta would be the one directly responsible for ending it. Traitor. I'm seriously considering cutting all the bristles off his paint brushes for this. Apparently, my four-month checkup was something of a milestone that no one bothered to explain to me. The baby will soon begin to move. The sickness will wane. The mother begins to feel normal again. This is also the time Peeta decided that everyone be informed of our happy event. I knew that we were having company for supper. I knew that he was more excited than a simple gathering should account for. I knew…but I never suspected this.

My first clue was the cake. Tiers upon tiers. Beautifully decorated. Blatantly covered in alternating pink and blue. My second clue was my mother's unexpected presence, Peeta following behind with her bags. Both of them looked at me with identical expressions-moist eyes and huge, goofy grins. I knew for sure at that moment I was a goner.

Now here I am, surrounded by most of District 12, my mother, my former mentor wearing the most obnoxious smirk he can muster, and Effie Trinket. Front and center is the turncoat who got me into this mess in the first place. He looks obscenely pleased with himself and is wearing the biggest grin I've ever seen. He's positively glowing.

I allow myself one more brief moment of resentment for this spectacle. I mutter threats and shoot him furious glances whenever our eyes meet. And he laughs. I frown and shake my head. And he grins. I purposefully tap my fingers next to the knife he set out for the cake. And he smiles softly, one hand touching my hair the other on my stomach. I can see the love burning in his eyes like a wildfire. So for once, I give up. I let him win. I smile back, my fingers intertwined with his on my belly.

He is radiant. Dazzling. Incandescent. Beaming. Aglow in love and happiness. And I gave him this gift. It's been said that I would choose the person I couldn't survive without. I realize now the truth in that statement. Peeta is my dandelion in spring. He reminds me that no matter how bad it gets, good always follows. He is mine and I am his. Always.

End Part 3.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Regression

"If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other." ~Mother Teresa

I am now six months pregnant. My belly is rounded and tight. It's getting a little harder each day to find a comfortable position for long. I had to purchase a completely new wardrobe. Nothing fit anymore, not even my father's jacket. Regretfully, I hung it on a peg beside the door and promised, "Soon." Even with the new clothes, most of the time I wear Peeta's stuff. He laughs whenever he catches me in his closet. I know it secretly pleases him but he acts indignant just to make me smile. It's one of the little pleasures we indulge in.

I spend most of my time now in the backyard. It's the closest I can get to the woods. In a rare fit of patriarchal dominance, Peeta halted my daily expeditions. At first, I was angry and informed him that I could and would do as I wanted. He played his cards exactly right. First, he tried concern, reasoning, and then outright anger, finally trotting out his big gun in Haymitch. "Sweetheart," he rasped. "This time you have completely cracked. You can't be climbing trees and crawling under fences. If your own safety won't halt this foolishness, think of the little one and the boy. He couldn't bear it if anything happened to either of you." Peeta stood behind him nodding all the while. Frustrated and outnumbered, I retreated. My compromise was to spend every waking hour in the backyard. Leaving me to my hollow victory, Peeta let the subject of the woods lie.

I was sitting on the back porch, idly watching the butterflies flit about the primroses when I felt it. A quick, sharp jab to my ribcage made me jump. I quickly glanced down at my stomach and felt my eyes round in amazement as my belly stretched and rolled. "It moved." I croaked out. "It moved." I leapt to my feet and ran…well, wobbled to the kitchen yelling for Peeta at the top of my lungs.

He was bent over the kitchen table straightening some parchment paper in preparation for the baking that would accompany our evening meal. At the sound of the door slamming and me shrieking, he spun around blue eyes huge in his face as I burst into the room. "Peeta, it moved." I howled. His gaze swept me head to toe obviously searching for some sign of injury. "It moved, "I repeated desperately. I had one hand on my belly where the bulge was visibly constricting and lengthening. The other hand I reached toward him, trying to make clear I wanted him to come to me now.

He didn't take my hand. I looked up confused and saw him grip the chair. "Peeta?" I questioned hesitantly. His head jerked at my words but he didn't turn around. "Peeta," I said again stepping toward him, hand still reaching out. I had almost touched his shoulder when I heard the wood of the chair creak. He was squeezing it, knuckles white hands shaking, as he fought to stay grounded. His eyes flicked up meeting mine. They weren't the sun-kissed blue that I loved. They were black, shadowed. I stopped, hand still outstretched, aware now of the danger I was in.

His lip tore open as his teeth clamped down. Blood ran over his chin as he used the pain to keep himself from falling completely into the dark. "Peeta, please. Please. Don't leave me now." I begged him, tears beginning to stream down my face. "I need you here. I can't do this alone. Please stay with me." His head bowed, hands clamping down even harder on the chair, as he fought for control. His lips pulled back, grimacing from hate or pain I didn't know. His teeth alternately tore into his ravaged lip or ground together loud enough to be heard across the room. "Peeta," I said again softly. And once more, his eyes met mine.

"Go." He choked out. "Go now. Katniss, please. I don't know if I can hold on. I don't want to hurt you. I can't stand it if I hurt you. Leave me please. Go now." The black completely overtook my beloved blue and I knew the poison had won. Soon words would come spilling out of his mouth. Poison, like that which flowed through his veins, would come forth in words he knew would cut me. Accusations I had no defense for. Memories of events that weren't real. They were designed to break him and through that, break me. The Capital was the soul of efficiency and had put years into perfecting their methods. Peeta was a masterpiece of their design. I did feel responsible for all he endured. Snow tortured him to get to me. To keep me in check. To stop the Rebellion before it truly took root.

As I watched him lose the battle to keep himself, I felt my anger toward the Capital fire anew. I wanted to dig Snow and Coin back up and shoot them until I could no longer pull the bow back for reducing Peeta to this. My peace, won amid a storm of green and gold, shattered and I took the only action open to me. I left him. I ran for myself and my baby. And I ran for him. Haymitch met me at the gate, eyes frantically examining me even as he questioned, "What happened?"

"The baby moved. I wanted to show Peeta. I don't know what happened. He's having an episode." I babbled almost incoherently, tears running in streams down my face. "He told me to leave. I didn't know what else to do." Greasy Sae came forward and gently took my arm, steering me toward her house. She and Haymitch shared a glance over my head. "Go with her, sweetheart. I'll make sure he don't hurt himself." Haymitch told me, his tone the most gentle I had ever heard. "You don't come back here until I come get you. Take care of the little one." With a gruff pat on my shoulder, he turned and entered my house, the battlefield I had abandoned. I had left him alone.

Sae led me to her house, whispering nonsense words into my ear as we walked. She sat me down and pushed a cup of tea into my hands then went into the kitchen to see about supper. I sat, tea forgotten, gazing at the house and wishing this had never happened. Once again, I had hurt him. I had caused him pain. No gift, not even this one, could ever repay all that he has suffered because of me. He loved me and paid the price. Like those who had loved me before. But his pain cut me the deepest. Haymitch had been right all along. I could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve him. Dropping my head into my hands, I wept for my love, my baby, and my lost green and gold.

End Part 4


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Regroup

Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." Martin Luther King, Jr.

PART 5: REGROUP

I awoke to the feeling of something touching my hair. Tucked under a blanket on Sae's couch, I could do nothing but keep still and wait. I felt his breath on my face. His hand wandered over my closed eyes, across my cheek before ghosting over my lips and neck. Silently, I opened my eyes and met his in the half-light. Mine questioning. His full of sorrow and guilt. After a second, I heard his breath hitch as he gulped down a sob. He leaned forward, forehead pressed against my rounded belly, and I could only watch his shoulders shake as his silent tears soaked into my shirt.

I raised my hand slowly, sliding it into his hair. I didn't speak. I just let him cry it out. It went on for hours or seconds, I don't know…him silently grieving, me offering what comfort that I could. Finally, he let me lift his chin. His eyes, however, wouldn't quite meet mine. "Where's Haymitch?" I asked as I eased my legs off the couch to give him room to sit. He shook his head, gesturing toward the door. I could see a dim outline framed briefly in the doorway before stepping back. At any other moment, I would have laughed at the idea of Haymitch being considerate. I knew he still thought of himself as our mentor even though that time had long since passed. I felt a rush of affection for the old man. I wouldn't, however, be telling him that anytime soon.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. I had to lean close to hear it. "I ruined it. Me and this stupid thing…"He tapped his temple with one rough finger. His eyes tear still tangled in the lashes, met mine finally and I couldn't bear to see the guilt in the blue depths. "I don't need Real or Not Real for this, Katniss. You were just trying to show me the baby moving. I know that. You wanted to share it with me and I ruined it."

My denials came swiftly forth but he cut me off before I could give them voice. His face contorted, pain twisting his features as he looked away. "I don't know what happened. I heard the door and heard you call out. All I could think was, she's hurt and I can't protect her. Our baby is hurt. I can't protect it. I can't do it. I felt those memories coming on. I tried to stop them." He said desperately. "I thought if I could just hang onto the chair, I could get them to stop. But they wouldn't. It just kept coming. I thought I could stop it." The last was a bleak, breathy whisper.

"Peeta," I said gently. "You did protect us. You did. When you couldn't stop it, you told me to leave. You told me to go." I grabbed his hand, holding it to my belly while my other hand touched his face pushing the overgrown bangs away from his eyes. He looked up again, guilt and sadness still etched on his face. "You did, Peeta. It's not your fault." I said again. This time I put as much force in my words as I could. I had to make him see that he wasn't responsible. I pulled him to me, arms locked around his waist, head against his chest. I could hear his heart. That beat that had gotten me through the worst nights in two arenas was sometimes my sole source of comfort. He hesitated then wound his arms around me, face buried in my hair.

"I want to go home," I told him quietly. "I want to go home with you. I want to sleep in our bed. I want to see your face first thing in the morning and last thing at night. I want to have this baby with you." My hands curled into his hair and I asked the most important question, "What I need to know is, do you want that too? If you do, then nothing else matters." He raised his head and nodded silently lips turning up in a mockery of his usual grin.

A voice in my head called out that I was responsible for this. I poisoned everything I touched. In two months, I had taken that radiant brilliant boy from the party and turned him into a pale imitation. I was too selfish and too cold to ever give him what he needed. I couldn't make him happy. I couldn't even make myself care unless he was there to hold me up. I used him as I used everyone…for my own survival. Never caring about their wants and needs as long as mine were met. That voice howled and for a brief second, I listened.

Like a lifeline, like an answered prayer, like a silver parachute, my answer came. My belly moved and stretched. It rolled and shifted. Peeta looked startled and his gaze dropped to my stomach. The touch feathered across my abdomen and moved into my ribs. It flailed around as though swimming. Peeta watched in amazement, a soft chuckle escaping as the bump continued to roll across my belly. His hands softly touched and he laughed again as something pushed back against him. "See, Peeta," I said softly," We want you. We need you. You won't ever hurt us. I know that. I wish you knew it to." My hand rested on top of his, fingers intertwined. We had made this same gesture only two months before. "I love you. I want to be with you."

He tightened his grip on my fingers, his smile no longer a pale imitation but luminous in its intensity. He raised our joined hands, kissing the tips of mine and met my gaze. "Together?" he questioned. He had said that word to me years ago in another time and place. In another life. I smiled back, and echoed my response, "Together."

End Part 5


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Remembrance

We do not remember days; we remember moments. ~Cesare Pavese, The Burning Brand

We slowly start putting the pieces back together. We learn to trust each other again even as we learn to trust ourselves. It's almost like the first few months back in District 12 after the Capital fell. As before, we keep busy. Peeta bakes and paints. I maintain my vigils in the backyard with the butterflies and Haymitch's geese for company. There are still moments when the black rolls into Peeta's eyes. There are times when my voices seek to drive me back into solitude with only my memories and nightmares to keep me company. But we get through it. We move on.

I'm eight months pregnant now and my belly has blossomed beyond the point of comfort. I can only stay in one position for short periods of time so sleep has become a treasured commodity. Peeta tries to keep me amused as best he can. Haymitch comes over regularly to insult me and make observations about my expanding girth. He tells Peeta that the Capital will have to send extra trains just to feed me. I scowl and threaten to pour out his liquor supply and remind him that I have been craving roasted turkey but geese will suffice. Peeta plays peacemaker as usual and shakes his head at our actions. Sometimes, I think he believes that he is the only adult in the Victor village.

He began work on the nursery soon after the hijacking incident. Thom and some men from town helped to clear out a small bedroom close to ours and install the baby furniture. As soon as they left, Peeta moved in with his paints. I haven't been allowed in since. He refuses to tell me what he is doing. He wants it to be a surprise. "It helps me to focus," He says one night as we're finishing supper. "It allows me to concentrate so much that the shiny stuff can't take hold." His pleading looks are enough to stifle my curiosity for now.

This morning is different. I have listened to him moving around. The bumps and thuds of furniture being shifted echo down the stairwell. The noise goes on for several hours before suddenly becoming silent. I become concerned after a few minutes and make my way to the stairs. My foot touches the bottom step when I see him headed down. He's covered literally head to toe in paint splatter. There are even some specks in his hair and a streak across his forehead where he must have swiped a hand to dislodge the permanently overlong bangs.

"I was just coming to get you." He stated. "It's finally finished." I quirked an eyebrow at his tone but continued up the steps. My curiosity has been simmering for several weeks but I didn't want to take this away from him. He has been trying so hard since the hijacking that I gave him full rein to do whatever he saw fit. It seems, finally, I'm about to be let in on the big secret. He looks nervous, judging from his shifting feet and the way he's biting his lower lip. I can't imagine what has brought this on. After all, we both know he's talented when it comes to painting. He's been closeted up here for weeks. I don't know what to expect but I know whatever it is will be spectacular. His paintings are beyond description, some so lifelike you expect them to step off the canvas.

He stops me before the closed door and puts one hand over my eyes. At my exasperated sigh, he laughs and says, "I just want it to be a surprise. Trust me." Well, when he puts it that way. I relent and let him shield my vision. When he's sure I can't see anything, he swings open the door. He leads me to what I assume is the center of the room, drops his hand and says somewhat hesitantly, "Ok, Katniss. You can look now." My eyes open and as I spin around, my jaw drops.

He's painted District 12 in absolute detail. But he's painted it with a perfection that could never be achieved in the real world. It's idyllic. It's beautiful. The meadow blooms in full spring glory, having never known flames and bombs. My woods are captured faithfully green along with the rock ledge where I spent many mornings before going on a hunt. The concrete house by the lake, katniss plants edging the water. Town as it once stood but each building is tall and proud. My throat tightens when I see the bakery, "Mellark's" scrolled across the big window while fancy decorated cakes sit majestically in the display. "Oh Peeta, "I breathe overcome. "It's…" my words dry up as I see the real reason he hid my eyes. I turn to look at him in amazement before going to the nearest wall, my fingers delicately tracing the lines.

His father stands at the bakery, smiling with a loaf of bread that he is wrapping into a bag. The drawing is light, delicate. He is rendered in beautifully painful detail. It is as if Peeta has captured fog, framed it, and put it on display. Haymitch walks the path to the Victor village, his geese flocking in disarray behind. Madge stands at the school entrance, in her white Reaping dress blond curls shining and her smile wide and clear. Gale sits on our ledge. His bow held in one hand and the sack he always carried slung over one shoulder. My breath hitches when I see Rue at the edge of the trees, peeking out from behind one. She was up on her toes arms held slightly out as if to take off in flight. Her brown eyes were liquid and open. Her smile was shy and quiet. She could have been lifted straight from my memories. I turn to him, eyes wide and mouth opening when I see her. Behind the crib as if guarding it, sits Prim. Situated looking into where our baby would lay, she was wreathed in primroses. Her blond hair pulled into two braids. Her iris blue eyes looked out from underneath a hair ribbon I had brought for her birthday. It was her favorite because it was the same shade as those eyes. He had even put in the stupid cat curled into Prim's arms. I waited for the usual hiss to greet me as I approached her.

My hand brushed her cheek, tracing the line of her. How could he do this? He had never been that close to Prim. How could he know the angle of her lip when she smiled? How could he possibly be familiar enough to get the tilt of her head exactly right? How could he have captured the look on her face from my most precious memory of her? The look she wore in 13 as she comforted me when I realized what the Capital was doing to Peeta. The look she had when I finally realized that my little sister had grown up. How could he know?

I heard his feet shift nervously, heard him gulp as I continued to stand silently in front of my sister. He stepped over to my side, his own hand coming up to trace Prim's face. "She used to visit me in 13 while you were gone shooting the propos. She would sit with me for hours just talking. She didn't expect anything from me. It didn't matter if I couldn't remember or if I got upset. To her, I didn't have to be who I had been before. It made me feel safe. She made it okay for me to just be in that moment. I was so grateful for that, Katniss" His eyes, so wary and yet determined, met mine. "Don't you see? It's just like the memory book. They are still here. Right here. As long as we remember them, they will never completely be gone." His hand traced the lines of Prim's face gently again before shifting to my stomach. "They will watch over this one. They will help make sure this child has a happy life. Never know what it feels like to be reaped. Never have to be afraid to sleep or dream."

I realized then why he painted the people so much more lightly and delicate then the surroundings. They were in the background but by putting them there, he made them impossible to miss. They were where they belonged. Still here. Still part of our lives. These people in this place had defined us. We had been stronger in knowing and loving each and every one of them. Peeta wasn't mourning when he placed these portraits in our baby's room. He was giving himself permission to remember the good, the love, friendship, and family. He was strong enough to step out of the darkness the Games had thrown over everything and to pull me out along with him. I glanced from my sister's eyes to Rue's and felt my peace ebb back. Once more, I watched the dance of the leaves and the light. How one made the other greater…both by giving and receiving. Peeta was giving me my memories back just as I had given him a reason to hold on. We had given each other a precious gift…a future.

I didn't speak. I didn't cry. I coiled my arms around his neck and felt him embrace me in return, his heartbeat steady in my ear. I heard him breathe, "I love you" into my hair and tightened my arms in response. My eyes met those of my sister and I whispered back, "I love you too."

End Part 6


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Rebirth

I brought children into this dark world because it needed the light that only a child can bring. ~Liz Armbruster

It had been, Peeta thought, one of the longest days of his life. It had started before dawn. Katniss had woken him up early. He had blinked sleepily and murmured, "Good morning." Finally, his eyes focused and he was startled to see the taut lines on her face. "What is it? What's wrong? Is it the baby?" At her nod, he frantically fought his way clear of the sheets heading for the door. "Where are you going?" She shrieked. "You're not going to leave me here alone. " He backtracked and gathered her into his arms. "Katniss, you know that I'm not leaving you but I can't deliver this baby." He laughed shakily. "I need to get your mother and that new medic from 4." Her hands tightened perceptibly on his forearms. "Don't you leave me, Peeta." She ordered. He blew out a frustrated breath and tried to come up with a doable plan B.

Hearing the racket outside as Haymitch and his geese began their usual morning commotion, Peeta silently thanked every deity known. The surly old drunk wasn't his first choice but at this moment Peeta couldn't afford to be picky. Disentangling his arms from Katniss' hold, he went to the window and yelled, "Haymitch, I need you." An amused smirk covered the former mentor's face and he didn't even look up to reply, "What's wrong this time, Lover Boy? Did she threaten to cut off more of your body parts again? You act like the baby's on the way." The proceeding laughter from this little bit of wisdom was abruptly stifled as Peeta announced, "The baby is on the way, you drunk idiot. Unless you want to help me deliver it, go and get her mother and the new medic. She refuses to let me leave the room." An almost comical expression of panic came over the old man's face and he abandoned the geese to lurch in the direction of town. At any other moment, Peeta would have stayed to enjoy the show but Katniss let out a painful moan and he leapt back toward the bed in a move comparable to Haymitch's earlier display.

Peeta sat with Katniss on the bed, her back pressed to his front and her head tucked into the space between his neck and shoulder. He absently rubbed her arms and muttered encouragingly each time her features contorted as another contraction worked its way across her back and stomach. Lily Everdeen and Anastacia Berchest, the new medic from District 4, entered the bedroom with Haymitch in tow. He was weighed down with various bags and boxes. Peeta was given a moment to bid Katniss good-bye and kiss her gently before being politely shown the door and told not to come back until called.

At a loss for what to do, he and Haymitch descended the stairs and took up positions on each end of the sofa. That had been hours ago, ten to be exact. Peeta's patience had begun to fray around the edges, Haymitch having long since abandoned him for a bottle of white liquor. Surprisingly though, very little was missing now that Peeta thought about it. His mentor didn't appear to be any worse off than this morning. Peeta couldn't help but wonder what had made the old man forego his usual method of relief. He, apparently, was just as worried as Peeta about what was going on upstairs.

People had wandered into the living room at various points during the day to inquire about progress. The biggest surprise came in the pink clad form of Effie Trinket. Peeta had no idea why Effie happened to be in District 12 or who had informed her what was going on at the Mellark house. She had burst in, given Peeta a hug and Haymitch a withering look because of the liquor and hadn't moved since. She warbled on continuously and Peeta politely nodded and gave noncommittal murmurs when she seemed to expect a reply from him. He couldn't have repeated the conversation if asked but she seemed satisfied so he didn't let it bother him. Haymitch, however, looked increasingly amused as the hours wore on. He tipped his bottle to his lips, smirking behind it as Effie shot him a condemning look. He sat forward, the bottle narrowing missing Peeta as he gestured in Effie's general direction. "Leave him alone, Duchess. His mind is about a thousand miles away from here or upstairs at any rate. He's much too polite to let you know he hasn't heard a word you said." Haymitch grinned at Effie's offended countenance and remarked, "I seriously doubt that he meant to agree to a tour of all the Districts and the Capital with the baby once it and Katniss are well enough to travel."

Peeta's eyes rounded in horror. He hadn't really agreed to that, had he? Katniss would kill him. Heck, she would have to beat him to the deed. Effie noticed Peeta's reaction and sighed. "It would have been a beautiful treat for everyone. They still think so much of these two. Plutarch will be so disappointed." Peeta threw his former mentor a thank you glance and resumed his staring at the stairs. Surely, there would be some news soon. As if answering his unspoken wish, Lily Everdeen descended the stairs carrying a bowl and some bedraggled toweling. She smiled at Peeta. "She's doing just fine. We are getting close. I knew you were probably getting anxious so I came down here instead of using the sink upstairs. As soon as I can, I'll get you in to see her." Refilling her bowl with water and grabbing another stack of toweling, Lily made her way back upstairs.

Unable to keep his mind occupied anymore, Peeta went into the kitchen and put a leftover lamb stew onto the stove to reheat. He got a pot of water boiling for the rice and set out a loaf of rye bread. Finally distracted, Peeta gathered up dishes and glasses to set the table. He had almost finished preparations when a familiar scream echoed down the stairwell. Dishes falling to shatter unnoticed on the floor, he ran through the living room and up the stairs before Haymitch could get a hand up to stop him. Bounding up the stairs two at a time, he sprinted up the length of the hall to the bedroom. His hand had just touched the knob when he heard it. A thin, tiny wail split the air followed by an explosion of feminine laughter.

Slowly opening the door, Peeta cautiously stuck his head in then made his way into the room. Lily met his gaze and smiled as she and Anastacia worked busily over a small bundle of toweling. Katniss sat up tiredly on the bed, hair a matted mess, and gave him a crooked grin. "You here to finish me off, Sweetheart? "She casually asked while running a wet cloth across her forehead and down her arms. Peeta made his way slowly to the bed and took the cloth from her hand. Leaning forward, he gently washed her face and neck with the cool cloth. Her eyes closed in pleasure and she signed, "That's nice, Peeta. Keep doing that." Peeta chuckled. Only Katniss would go through ten hours of labor and still come out bossy and demanding on the other side.

Lily and Anastacia approached the bed bearing a small bundle. A thatch of dark hair could be seen peeking out the top. Lily smiled at them both and expertly tucked the bundle into Katniss' arms. At the first sight of his daughter's hazy blue eyes, Peeta felt tears well up. He traced the small fingers with one of his and a shaky laugh escaped. He looked up at Katniss. She too had tears in her eyes and a look that Peeta had seldom seen in on her face. She looked completely blissfully happy. Every scowl line, every dark cloud had been lifted. Her smile stretched across her face-wide, clear, and beautiful. Her fingers traced over the baby's nose and chin running lightly over her chest, disengaging the swaddling as she went. The same shaky laugh chimed from her as she examined the tiny legs and feet, kissing the small toes. She met Peeta's eyes and leaned forward to kiss him softly. "Thank you for this." She whispered. He swallowed noisily and echoed, "No, Katniss. Thank you. I love you. I love you both."

Lily cleared her throat and said, "I hate to break this up but you do have some people down stairs who are growing impatient." Katniss snorted and Peeta echoed her a little less forcibly. "They can wait a few more minutes, Mom. At least let us look at her before you parade her out to the masses." Katniss tucked the tiny legs back into the blanket and expertly folded her daughter back into the soft folds. Peeta grinned at his wife's actions. Born of having to become both mother and father to Prim, Katniss clearly knew more about the care of small children than she gave herself credit for. Katniss must have read his thoughts because she shared a smile with him then handed him the bundle. Slowly and carefully, he adjusted an elbow and a hand until she was settled securely in his arms. A small yawn and whimper came from the blanket then the baby quieted, eyes contentedly closed.  
Peeta, for the second time in his life, lost his heart to a dark haired girl. Katniss smiled knowingly and shifted to a more comfortable position against the pillows. Lily and Anastacia shared an amused glance and then questioned, "Can we at least tell them her name?" Confused glances met this question and Lily blew out an unbelieving breath. "Don't tell me that you haven't even discussed names." An uncomfortable red flush climbing up two faces was her answer. "We'll leave you three alone to discuss this." She gave them both a stern look then followed Anastacia out the door.

Peeta and Katniss looked at each other somewhat shamefaced. Neither had considered that a name hadn't been brought up. The pregnancy had been so eventful for both of them. The goal had been to get all three of them to this point relatively whole and healthy. Other details could be decided later. Well, later had shown up and they were now woefully unprepared. "I suppose calling her hey you is out of the question." Peeta joked to break the tension. "How could we forget to come up with a name? What else do you think we forgot?" He was rewarded by a low laugh. Katniss grinned unrepentantly and said, "She's here. She is healthy. The rest is not important, Peeta." Rolling his eyes, Peeta retorted, "Normally I would agree with you but she does need a name. Baby Girl Mellark will only last for so long. Haymitch would never let us hear the end of it." Even Katniss looked a little ill at that prospect.

She shifted to another position against the pillows, closer to Peeta and propped her chin on his shoulder as she examined the small bundle in his arms. "I have thought about it. I ran through every flower name in the finest Everdeen tradition. I thought of every type of bread I knew which wasn't many, I'll admit. I couldn't come up with anything that seemed right. That seemed good enough." She ghosted her fingers over the baby's hair. "I want her to have something all her own. But I'm afraid if we don't at least consider naming her after our family, it will seem disrespectful." Peeta glanced at her and remarked, "You've certainly given this a lot of thought haven't you." She nodded against his shoulder. "I guess Muffin Rose won't quite fit your ideal then." This time he was rewarded with a full-throated laugh. "No, Peeta. That won't do at all." She smiled up at him before her face became suddenly serious. "I did have an idea but I wanted to discuss it with you first. I didn't know if you would approve."

Peeta met her eyes. She looked somehow uncertain but still determined to be heard. He gestured for her to continue. "You remember my token from the first Games. " She waited until he nodded then continued. "Madge Undersee gave me that pin. She said it belonged to her aunt. We found out later that her aunt was my mother's best friend and was reaped the same year as Haymitch. That pin became a symbol because of me. But it didn't really start with me, you see. It started with her, Maysilee Donner. She willingly became allies with Haymitch and left before being forced to kill him. She made the exact same choice that you and I made. I became the Mockingjay partially because of this pin. Because of her. I want our daughter to be her own person. She should be able to choose her own fate and not be bound to anything because of who her parents are. But I feel like I owe them something. I thought this would be a good way to pay some of that back."

It was the longest speech that Peeta had ever heard her give. "I thought you said you weren't good at saying something." He teased gently. "Katniss, if you want to name our daughter Maysilee then that will be her name. Maysilee Mellark. I think it's beautiful." He hesitated and Katniss caught it immediately. "You had another idea," she questioned. "Don't just agree with me, Peeta. This is too important to both of us. What did you have in mind?"  
He hesitated again. This wasn't going to be easy. He didn't know quite how she would react so he plunged in. "I love Maysilee. I think it's perfect. I just want to add something to it." He stopped to look into their daughter's sleeping face. "They took so much from us, Katniss, things that we can't replace and things that will never heal. I'll never be rid of the tracker jacker venom. Your nightmares may never stop." He grimaced. "And Haymitch will do as he's always done. He will survive. I don't want them to have anymore. I want to show them regardless of the Games and their Rebellion, I'm still going to be me. They can't change that. They can't take it that away."

"What do you want, Peeta?" she questioned, acting if she already knew but wanted to be sure. She wanted to hear him say it. She knew he was strong but she had underestimated his strength. He was bent. He was twisted. But he had never been completely broken. She had never loved him more than she did at that moment. "I want her name to be Gale." He stated. "It can be like a sign to both of us." He laced his fingers with hers. "You don't have to go back to the way it was with him. I don't know if you could. You don't have to forgive him. I just want you to be open to the possibility. Otherwise, you're letting them take something else, Katniss. Something they have no right to take. I'm not excusing him. I don't know the extent of his involvement with what happened to Prim. But you were best friends with him for most of your life. That is worth something. Don't let them take all those good memories from you. They've taken enough."

She touched his face gently, wondering again at this marvelous man she married. Haymitch is right. She still didn't deserve him. She nodded, curling closer to him and her daughter, breathing in the sweet goodness that belonged to this small person alone. "Maysilee Gale Mellark," She smiled at Peeta. "It's perfect." One side of his mouth quirked up and he whispered back, "Almost star-crossed." She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Peeta, you definitely have spent too much time with Effie."

End Part 7


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Epilogue

The hunger for love is much more difficult to remove than the hunger for bread. ~Mother Teresa

Four years later:

I have found that it is best not to question the good things in life. To question them is to take them for granted. That is something I can never do. After all the years and battles, I find that the quiet, simple pleasures are the most valuable. Those things that can't be bought with Victor gold or Capital goodwill are the most precious. Those things are not to be questioned, only given thanks for.

Maysilee Gale will soon turn four. May, as she insists on being called, lives in absolute certainty that she is loved. To her, the world is one wide wonderland to be explored at her leisure and safety isn't counted in Reaping slips. She has never known what it is like to do without simple things. She has never had to sit in the rain hopeless, only to find it growing wild right in front of her or tossed at her feet like loaves of burnt bread. She has never known the deadliness of dread nor the gray depths of despair. To her, the words of her lullaby are the only truth she knows.

There are still times when bad days come and lists of good deeds are all I have to cling to. Most of those deeds begin and end with May. If Peeta is my dandelion in spring, May is the sun that makes it bloom, the water that feeds it, and the wind that blows it free. No, I don't question the good things in my life. You never know when a change will come.

Today, we dance in the Meadow. We sing to the mockingjays. I whistle Rue's song to them and May giggles when they call it back. We spread our blanket and unpack a basket lunch. We use our napkin and sip tea with pinkies extended because as May solemnly announces, "Mannos matter, Mama. Tats what Ms. Effies says." Much to her delight, anything Ms. Effies says has quickly become the only correct way. Haymitch, a frequent guest at tea parties, has tried to explain to May why that simply isn't so. May flatly refuses to back down and after much grumbling he gives in. I try not to laugh where he can see me. The idea of Haymitch being bullied by a toddler is one of those things I don't question.

Peeta finally wanders out to join us. His blue eyes absolutely glow as May runs to greet her Daddy. She might be Mama's girl but Daddy is the center of her world. Since they are both the center of mine, I'm willing to share. He flops down in the grass and grabs a sandwich. I can't help but grin at totally giddy expression he gets on days like today. My mind flickers back to the day he announced my pregnancy to anyone close enough to listen. That radiant brilliance has never left Peeta. It might dim occasionally when the bad days comes. But I know he'll return. That is as sure as the sunrise or dandelions in spring.

"Did you give daddy his pwesent yet?" She whispers to me. My lips twitch, aching to grin because her remark could have been heard in the Capital. "No," I reply. "I was waiting for you to give to him." She leaps excitedly to her feet and charges the basket. Peeta lifts a questioning brow, "Why do I get a present. It's not my birthday." I roll my eyes while silently flinching, memory of the last time he used this phrase echoing uncomfortably in my mind. Oblivious, Peeta eyes his daughter's antics and continues to devour his sandwich. Poor Effie. She never did completely get us trained. Before my nerves get the better of me, I retort, "I know it's not your birthday, brainless. May decided that she didn't want you to feel left out because it's her birthday in a few days. I said I would get you a present all your own and she could give it to you. After all, we can't have you doing without." He eyes me warily over the remains of that poor sandwich. I slide teasingly closer and whisper for his ears alone, "What do you think, Peeta. Have you been a good boy lately?" He huffs out a laugh, "Katniss, I think you would a better judge of that than me." He grins unrepentantly as my face flushes red.

I let him have his fun knowing that in this case the last laugh will indeed be mine. May leaps onto his back, causing him to lose both his breath and the last bits of his sandwich. She proudly presents a crumpled box wrapped with paper of an original May design and tied with a lopsided scraggly bow. She did have to help with every single step after all. Peeta accepts the present, making an elaborate ceremony of thanking her much to May's delight. He asks, "Did you pick this out?" She grins back at him, showing the full array of dimples. "No. Mama picked it out. I made it pwetty." He turns the package over and over examining it from all angles before announcing that the box is almost to "pwetty" to open. This doesn't agree with May's plans for the afternoon. So without further ado, he eases off the bedraggled bow and carefully pulls the paper off. Raising the lid, he stops. He stares. He looks at me with hope dawning brightly in his eyes. He then takes out a small stick broken from one of the primrose bushes in our yard wrapped end-to-end in pink ribbon.

End Part 8


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